F is for Fear
by whumpertrooper
Summary: Breathing was underrated. Charlie would never take it for granted again. Post 5x03. Part of the A to Z Charlie Whump challenge.


**A/N:** _This fic wasn't planned at all, but I needed something short and simple after letter E and before I started working on the next longer story takes place shortly after episode 5x03. I hope you'll enjoy:D _

* * *

The raid was supposed to be easy and quick. They got an anonymous tip about drugs being sold in the local gym. The caller didn't say what type of drugs but Lawson was pretty sure it were some kind of steroid anabolics as they seemed to be all the rage in the last few years. Nevertheless, the tip sounded legit and Lawson quickly put together a team for the raid.

Of course they were expecting some trouble. After all, if it was a gym, the occupants were most probably all in good physical shape. And if they were helped with steroids, chances were there would be a brawl. But that's why there were ten coppers raiding the premises.

At first it seemed like everything would work out fine. When Charlie and the others entered the building, they found several men exercising with weights, a few more training in a boxing ring. Those guys gave them a stink eye, but didn't seem too pumped for a fight when they saw the number of coppers. Of course things couldn't be that easy. As soon as Bill headed for the lockers, the owner shot up and started protesting. Bill only smirked at him, pushed him out of the way and opened the door.

Only to see two rather scrawny guys sitting on a bench, looking a bit dazed. There was a discarded empty syringe on the floor. Two other men were in the process of trying to clean up the evidence by stuffing a bag with some powder into a locker and one guy, the biggest of them all, stood guard by the door. Or well... he was trying to. Whatever was going on inside the room was enough of a distraction that the man was focusing more on the inside than on keeping the door closed.

When Bill stepped inside the locked room, everyone went still. There was a moment of stunned disbelief on both sides, then the fight broke out.

Charlie got in a few punches, received one or two as well for the trouble. But he used his training and managed to subdue and handcuff one of the guys attempting to hide the drugs. Bill and Ned were both trying to subdue the biggest guy. He might not have been a smart one, but he was bulky and a jab from Hobart's baton set him off.

Charlie stepped out of the way, pulling his perp along as there were fists flying around. He really didn't fancy catching one from his own people. The fight surprisingly didn't last all that long. As more coppers rushed in, the big guy was finally subdued and two other guys were being handcuffed as well. Charlie frowned. He was pretty sure there were five people when they entered the room...

Charlie caught sight of a closing door. He cursed silently then pushed the handcuffed guy towards Hobart who was putting the cuffs on his own guy and slamming him with gusto against one of the lockers.

„One got away! Keep an eye on him, I'm going after the other one," Charlie shouted and before Hobart could protest at being relegated to some kind of prison guard, Charlie was already gone.

The door led to what Charlie assumed was the gym's storage room. There were weights and barrels with powder and other equipment lying around. There was also another door in the corner of the room behind which Charlie encountered a stairway leading down. The lights were on even though the place seemed empty. But he could hear the sound of retreating footsteps and saw a long corridor at the end of the stairs. Without thinking, Charlie followed.

Thankfully the stairs were made of stone and didn't creak. Charlie was trying to keep his pace but also to be as silent as possible. If the guy he was following thought he was alone he could drop his guard and maybe even slow down. Charlie could maybe use it to his advantage and surprise him.

Things never worked out as he planned though. Something must've given him away. Or maybe it was just bad luck. Maybe the guy he was pursuing was just crazy.

Charlie couldn't explain why else the man would've suddenly changed his mind and rushed out from behind the corner with an angry roar. Charlie barely managed to sidestep and halt his own movement before he was bodily slammed against the wall.

His head gave a solid thud and for a second Charlie saw stars. He felt as if an angry bull had barrelled straight into him. The air left his lungs with an „oomph" sound and Charlie wasn't sure if it would ever come back. Especially when a wiry fist curled around his neck and squeezed.

There was a moment when Charlie thought this was all just a stupid nightmare. He used to have dreams where he couldn't catch his breath, nightmares about unnatural beings trying to smother him so he couldn't breathe, couldn't scream. But this... this was different. This was real.

The man in front of him was snarling and cursing in a language Charlie wasn't able to recognize, even though it could've been English for all he knew. But his hearing wasn't right. There was the ringing in his ears, the roar of blood in his temples. The noise of his own measly attempts at drawing breath through the vice that was squeezing his neck, cutting off all oxygen. Charlie felt his eyes bulging, cold sweat breaking out on his skin.

The man didn't relent. The man probably didn't even know what he was doing.

Charlie could see his pupils were so wide they almost completely covered the irises. He was staring into a black abyss of insanity.

His instincts and training were worthless. No matter how much Charlie kicked, clawed or squirmed, he couldn't get out of that death grip. Even if normally Charlie could go a minute without breathing, this was different. His lungs were screaming for air almost instantly. He felt his chest burning, but what was worse was the pain in his neck and head. The dark dots peppering his vision were just the warning signs that soon he wouldn't be conscious. Charlie knew if that happened, he was as good as dead.

With renewed vigour he clawed and punched the man in front of him, kicked him in the shin, kicked him wherever he could.

The man didn't _flinch_. He just kept staring into Charlie's eyes and muttering nonsense words under his breath, almost as if he was putting a curse on Charlie in some long dead language. There was drool and bloody spit running down the man's chin and Charlie knew he probably felt no pain. He had no sense at all.

The fingers dug deeper into his neck and Charlie's vision faded. His ears were filled with ringing and all the fight left his body. Only thing left was an all consuming fear and his last thought was that he didn't want to die, not like this. Then everything went black.

He wasn't sure what happened. One moment he couldn't breathe and everything went dark the next he blinked his eyes open to see retreating footsteps. He was lying on the floor, crumpled like a doll. His limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated as Charlie tried to pull himself together, get into a sitting position or hell, just get up on his knees. Anything but lie on his back.

He managed to turn and only as he pushed himself off the ground, swaying dangerously, did he realise he could breathe again. His left hand went up towards his neck instinctively, making sure there was no restriction. Making sure his neck was still in one piece as his lungs took in deep gulps of air. Charlie could still feel the fingers squeezing into his neck, could still see black on the edge of his vision. But there was air and he was alone in a damp cold corridor.

He was still alive.

Unable to believe his luck, Charlie blinked. Then he turned to the side and without warning let go of his breakfast. He was just trying to get back up on his feet, wavering and half leaning against the wall for support when Bill Hobart appeared, an unhappy frown on his face.

„Sleeping on the job, Davis?"

Charlie just shook his head and pointed down the corridor.

„That way. Watch out... he's dangerous," Charlie managed to rasp out and was surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded. Hobart shot him a look that might've been of concern if not for their latest disagreement. Right now, Bill couldn't care less.

„Get back upstairs, _Sergeant. _You wouldn't want to get those hands dirty."

With that, Bill was gone and Charlie stood there, frozen in place.

He knew Hobart was still pissed, but couldn't the guy see the marks on his neck? Did he really think Charlie was just too lazy to follow the suspect or decided to upchuck his breakfast after a punch in the gut?

Charlie gritted his teeth. He was of half mind to just turn around and let Hobart deal with the guy alone. To let him face the crazy and see what it's like.

But that wasn't who Charlie was and even though he wished to just sit down somewhere and get his strength back before facing the world, he knew his priority was to get the guy and make sure no one died. Not the perp... and not Bill Hobart.

Grimacing, Charlie pushed away from the wall and followed behind Bill.

He caught up with him just as Bill cornered the guy in a small boiler room. He didn't go down easy. Cornered animals never do.

Seeing two men blocking his only way out, the man gave another roar and charged. This time Charlie wasn't alone though. Like a moth to a flame, the man headed straight for Charlie, ignoring Bill as if he was nothing but air. Charlie sidestepped just as Bill drove the end of his baton into the man's stomach. He grunted and finally turned his attention towards Bill. There was a scuffle and by the end of it Bill seemed to be out of breath almost as much as Charlie was a few minutes ago. But the perp was now lying on the ground, handcuffed and knocked unconscious.

"He seemed to like you a lot," Hobart commented with a smirk. Charlie shook his head, still trying to catch his breath properly after the struggle.

"Strong as a bull," he muttered and fought back the urge to touch his neck. It still felt as if there was an invisible grip on it, but Charlie didn't want to call attention to that. It was enough Hobart knew Charlie lost the fight in the corridor.

"I wonder what he was on," Hobart agreed and hauled the unconscious man up. Both he and Charlie grabbed one arm and half carried, half dragged the man towards the exit, occasionally pausing to take a rest. It didn't look so, but lugging dead weight was no fun.

Charlie was focusing on keeping his breathing even and not to sound like a whale on dry land so he almost didn't hear the soft 'Thanks' coming from Bill as they reached the stairwell.

Charlie paused and blinked, looking at Bill with confusion.

"What?" he asked, dumbfounded.

Bill looked as if he ate a sour grape, but spoke again.

"I said _thanks_. For not bailing," he added and it was obvious that thanking was the last thing Bill wanted to do. Charlie didn't know how to react.

"Uh... of course. Have your back," he mumbled back in reply. They exchanged a glance. It was clear that things still weren't absolutely resolved and with Bill's character Charlie was sure there will always be some conflict between them. But at least where the job was concerned, Charlie most likely won't have to worry about Bill leaving him hanging in the future. That was more than he could say this morning.

"Okay, let's get this idiot into lock-up before he comes to his senses," Bill grunted, breaking the awkward silence between them. Charlie took a deep breath, getting himself ready for the stairs and nodded.

The following hour was spent with closing up the gym, putting two drugged guys and four more accomplices in the police vans and driving them to the station. Getting them all processed and put into cells while Blake checked over them took up another hour. The guy that attacked Charlie and Bill ended up having to go to the hospital. Blake offered to escort him, all too curious about trying to figure out the exact drug that was used.

Charlie was glad about that. In all the hassle, no one paid him much attention. All the cops had some bruises from the scuffle, but they all waved off Blake's inquiry about injuries. Including Charlie.

His initial concern that his neck must've been turning black and blue died off the moment he passed a mirror in the gym's locker room. He caught sight of a small reddish imprint where the guy's thumb dug the deepest into his throat, but it was barely visible really. On first sight, his neck looked unblemished and that more like anything made Charlie wonder if he wasn't just feeling a bit melodramatic. There were no visible signs and would anyone really believe he was almost choked to death without them?

Charlie didn't think so. Or maybe he just didn't want to seem like a weakling again in front of the guys. So when Blake stopped by his desk before leaving the station and asked if he was alright, Charlie nodded with a smile.

"Just a few bruises, Doc." He internally cringed at his hoarse voice and Blake gave him a studious look.

"Coming down with something?" he asked and Charlie shrugged, forcing back a wince. He didn't realize how the movement would hurt... how stiff he had become.

"Probably," he admitted.

"Don't overdo it then and I can prescribe a glass of good whiskey tonight," Blake said with a smirk and Charlie just nodded. At this moment a glass of something strong sounded just about right.

With Blake out of the picture and a ton of paperwork to be finished, the following few hours passed rather uneventfully for Charlie. He hunkered down behind his desk, occasionally picking up the phone or checking on some details with the detained men.

Charlie was hoping the feeling of tightness would vanish as the day passed on, but he wasn't so lucky. He could still feel the fingers on his neck and if he occasionally touched the skin, it was painful, like a bruise. His voice wasn't getting any better either, no matter how much water or tea he drunk and as the hour passed he found himself clearing his throat on reflex, as if to make sure he still could.

It was shortly before the shift's end when he coughed for the third time in so many minutes when Lawson finally snapped.

"I swear to God, Davis, if you come down with the flu and infect everyone, I'll kill you myself."

Charlie looked up, startled.

"Boss?"

"Did you spend too much time singing in the shower this morning?" Lawson asked with a raised eyebrow and Charlie blushed. He didn't sing, but it was true he might've used up a bit more hot water than necessary, ending with a cold shower for his Boss. But hell if he would admit it was him.

"No, Boss. Just a sore throat," he admitted, hoping that would be enough.

Lawson looked unconvinced.

"Maybe you should head home, then."

'So that I don't have to listen to you,' was heavily implied.

Charlie frowned.

"We came in the same car," he reminded Lawson and this time it was the other man who frowned.

"Right then. Carry on," Lawson waved him off, muttering something under his nose. Charlie was sure he would've sent him home anyway, but it was barely an hour till the end of the shift. Lawson could handle a bit of noise if it meant not having to ask someone for help or call a cab.

Charlie still got up and made himself another cup of tea. He was a bit startled when for a second the world spun but he caught himself on the counter, leaning in a bit heavier and pretended he was just waiting for the water to boil... bored out of his mind. Even though inside he felt a bit of panic.

What if something was wrong? He wasn't sure how long he was down or if he even hit his head. He didn't even know why the guy left him alone after all. His limbs still felt a bit heavy and there was a headache steadily thumping across his temples, but... he could breathe and that was the most important. Everything else would just pass away, Charlie assured himself and felt a bit calmer when he poured the water into the cup and noted his hand wasn't shaking anymore. Right. He just needed a bit of time to calm down. An hour. He could handle that.

Of course the ride home was a silent affair. Charlie usually tried to keep up the chatter but he didn't want to talk unless necessary. He really didn't need Lawson on his back, the man seemed to give him a glare every time he as much as cleared his throat. Though it was a bit hard to figure out whether it was concern or irritation at this point.

Charlie let out a sigh of relief when they reached the house. He got out of the car and was glad that Lawson was too focused on his own discomfort to pay much attention to Charlie. The drive in the car seemed to awaken each and every bruise on his body, while his back and neck became painfully stiff. Charlie was wondering if he could plausibly decline dinner in lieu of getting a scalding hot shower. Maybe that would help with the bruises.

He knew his plan won't work the moment he entered the house and smelled dinner. The kitchen table was set with plates and Jean was running around finishing up with some bubbling pot, while Blake was trying to distract her. Lawson and Charlie shared an amused look as they heard Jean utter an affronted 'Lucien!' though there was a smirk playing at her lips.

This time it was Lawson who cleared his throat to announce their presence.

"Ah, gentlemen, just in time for dinner," Blake welcomed them, while Jean blushed slightly.

Charlie just smiled and quickly excused himself so he could go and change into something more comfortable, while Lawson settled down and asked Blake about his findings at the hospital.

Charlie took a moment to get out of his uniform. He cringed at every movement and wondered whether Bill felt at least half this bad after the fight they had with the perp. He dared to look into a mirror and cursed. There, just below his jaw line on the right side was shaping to be a bruise. Not very visible yet, hardly noticeable really, but Charlie wondered just how long that would last. To anyone else he could say it was just a bruise from the scuffle, but he doubted Blake wouldn't realize it came from a hard grip.

Charlie sighed and put on a shirt with a collar, hoping it would at least partially hide the bruise. He wasn't even sure why he was trying to keep up the charade really. It wasn't like he did anything wrong or shameful. True, the fact that the man was barely his own size yet managed to overpower him with ease was a bit... disconcerting. But Charlie was sure that was just the drugs. He remembered the look in the guy's eyes... the black unseeing pits and shuddered. Whatever thing he took... it was bad shit. Charlie was just happy no one was killed.

No, what kept him from simply admit to the strangling was something else. Something he would have to think about a bit later, Charlie realized as he heard Jean call his name announcing that dinner was ready.

Charlie cleared his throat then coughed, wincing a bit. It felt like he was really coming down with a strep throat or something. But different. He wondered how much fun dinner would be.

* * *

No fun at all, Charlie thought a few minutes later as he was carefully chewing on the chicken and mashed potatoes. At least the conversation around him was flowing without a particular need for his input. Blake and Lawson always managed to keep the talk up, especially with an active case.

"So they really thought it was steroids they are taking but instead it was what... drugs?" Jean asked after Blake regaled her with the tale.

"The signs show it might've been PCP... but mixed with something else. We still need to test the samples."

"Why would anyone do that?"

Blake shrugged.

"I'd say it was a mix-up with the delivery. Did the men you arrested tell you anything more, Matthew?"

"Not yet. One of them said they got the anabolics regularly and never had a problem before. The owner isn't talking yet, but I think a night or two in the cell might change his mind."

"What about the anonymous tip? Isn't it strange they called it in just when there was a mix-up?" Jean asked and Blake looked at her proudly, as if saying 'See? I picked the smartest woman of them all'. Lawson rolled his eyes and Charlie feigned interest in his food.

"It is our theory that the call came from a rival gym or maybe straight from the person who caused the switch up. But we don't know yet who that is."

The discussion continued, but Charlie stopped paying attention. No one called his name and he was just trying to get through the dinner without pulling attention to himself. Eating felt like swallowing sand paper so Charlie took frequents sips of his water and pretended that all was well with the world. Until he stood to get his third glass of water and Jean frowned at him.

"Everything alright there Charlie?" she asked and Charlie turned back caught in a surprise.

"Hm?"

Of course Blake and Lawson chose that moment to stop talking and look at him as well.

"That's your third cup and you barely touched your food," Jean pointed out. "Did I put on too much spice?"

"Oh, no. I'm just... not that hungry," Charlie said hastily. Last thing he wanted was to upset Jean and make her think there was something wrong with the food. Jean looked relieved, but that didn't mean Charlie was off the hook.

"Are you getting sick? Your voice sounds a bit hoarse," she noted and Charlie cursed silently. That woman was worse than a pit-bull... and more perceptive than Blake or Lawson.

"Yeah... probably just a cold," Charlie waved it off and turned back towards the sink, hoping the running water will stop any questions. He should've known better.

"You sounded hoarse at the station too," Blake commented offhandedly and Lawson joined in.

"Not to mention all the coughing and clearing his throat. Rather annoying in fact," Lawson said, then smirked when Charlie turned around in protest.

"Matthew!" Jean called out. "If he isn't feeling right, you shouldn't bug him."

Lawson just shrugged.

"If he lets Blake give him something to stop that incessant sound, I will most definitely stop _bugging_ him."

"I'm _fine_," Charlie said with a sigh and a shake of his head. "Can we just stop talking about me?"

There was a moment of silence, the only sound the clinking of cutlery and the creak of the chair as Charlie sat back down to his plate. He took a sip of water and turned to Blake.

"When will that guy in the hospital be able to talk with us?"

"Well, it is hard to say. The drug should be out of his system by the morning, but he also suffered a rather severe head injury..."

Charlie tried not to look guilty about that. The feeling of phantom fingers on his neck helped with that.

"He was insane, Doc. Trust me... there was no way to talk him down."

Something in his voice must've given him away. Or maybe it was his choice of words, but after this Charlie was aware of Blake's gaze for the rest of the dinner. He made sure to clear his plate even though it was an effort. As usual, Charlie offered to help clean the table with Jean, but she shooed him away.

"Nonsense. You had a tiring day. Go and rest."

Charlie wanted to reiterate that he was fine, on the other hand he longed to take that hot shower even more. So he nodded, thanked for the food and headed towards the stairs, only to be stopped by Blake.

"I think I prescribed you a glass of something strong, Charlie," Blake said and Charlie noticed that he was holding up two glasses filled with amber liquid.

"I'm fine Doc, I just really want to take a shower and lie down."

Blake just raised an eyebrow, holding the glass towards him.

Charlie groaned but took it. One sip and he grimaced at the burning feeling, then coughed as the rest of it went down the wrong pipe.

Blake reached out and patted him on the back until Charlie stopped coughing and managed to take a normal breath. Then he moved his hand up, probably with the intent of giving Charlie's shoulder a pat. Only thing was... his fingers brushed against the side of Charlie's neck.

The ghostlike touch was enough to send shivers down Charlie's spine. He couldn't help it.

Charlie flinched.

Blake's hand froze, eyes narrowing and Charlie knew he was pretty much busted.

"Sorry, Doc, just..." Charlie had to clear his throat again. "Just tired," he muttered and turned away, hoping the Doc would let it go and accept his answer. He totally forgot about the bruise on the right side of his neck, until Blake's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Just a moment, Charlie," Blake spoke and his voice broke no argument.

Charlie sighed and turned back towards the man.

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you come to the surgery? I think Matthew was right. I should give you something to help with that sore throat."

Charlie hesitated. Getting some relief sounded great. On the other hand, he was sure Blake wouldn't just give him pills and send him on his way without questions.

"Uh... maybe it can wait till morning? I'm already feeling better-"

This time Blake's hand landed gently on his shoulder, without brushing his neck. Still, Charlie tensed.

"I insist. I think it's the least I can do after a day you had."

They shared a look and Charlie saw the familiar concern. He knew that if he really wanted to, he could've just pulled away and bid Blake goodnight without an explanation. But he also knew that would hurt the man's feelings, not to mention he would most likely keep worrying. Or worse... he would show his worry in front of Jean. And there was no way Charlie could say no to Jean. It was easier to just give up.

With a sigh, Charlie relented. The smile on Blake's face was almost worth it.

At least he thought so, until Blake pointed him towards the exam bed in his office instead of the chair. Charlie grimaced but sat his ass down on the bed, trying to look at ease and innocent but failing miserably.

"So tell me Charlie... what seems to be the problem?" Blake asked, standing a few feet away, watching Charlie squirm on the bed. He had yet to reach for any instruments but Charlie knew better than to think that would last. Still, he was stubborn if nothing else and at this point it was more a thing of honor to not crumble under Blake's gaze within the first minute. Charlie really hoped he could last at least two.

"Just a sore throat, Doc. No big deal." Charlie shrugged, looking around the surgery nervously. It wasn't like he hated this room or that he feared medical procedures. Well, not any more than every other bloke. It was just the thought of admitting weakness always gave him this sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like it.

"When did it start?" Blake asked and Charlie blinked.

"The sore throat? This morning you seemed fine," Blake pointed out and Charlie shrugged.

"It came on quick," he admitted.

Blake hummed and stepped closer. Charlie tried not to lean back to gain some distance between them.

"Any other symptoms?" Blake asked and reached out, this time clearly about to put his hands on Charlie's neck.

Charlie tried not to back away, but it was an impossible task. All he saw was the hand reaching towards him and he put up his own on instinct, protecting his neck.

There was no way to explain off his reaction this time.

Blake watched him with narrowed eyes even as Charlie said sorry in a panicked voice, eyes wide and chest heaving.

"It's okay. I won't hurt you," Blake assured him and slowly put his own hand on Charlie's. "Just relax. Whatever happened, you're safe now."

And it was that tone that really brought Charlie back to reality. It was the tone that was usually reserved for victims. Understanding... soothing. It wasn't a tone Charlie wanted to hear pointed at him... ever. He took in a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. He wasn't a victim.

"Don't," he hissed. "Don't talk to me that way," he said looking Blake straight in the eyes.

Blake paused, then gave a nod.

"My apologies, Charlie."

Charlie knew it was stupid. Blake had nothing to apologize for, but at the same time he didn't want to be treated like a damsel in distress. He wasn't... he wasn't a domestic abuse victim. This wasn't something that should make him feel ashamed. This wasn't personal.

But whatever arguments Charlie kept running through his head, however much he knew that it wasn't personal, that the guy probably didn't even remember what he was doing, it didn't help. Because he could still feel those damn fingers clutched around his neck and squeezing so tight he thought his neck might snap. He still remembered the feeling of his lungs screaming for air or the certainty that this was it... this was the way he would die. And that felt hell of personal.

"Charlie," Blake's hand gently tapped his face and Charlie let out a breath. He realized he was shaking slightly, his own hand pushing against the bruised skin of his throat and making the pain worse, making the panic grow. Charlie let go, his hand falling into his lap with a dull thud.

"He was insane, Doc. I... I couldn't fight him off," Charlie finally admitted and looked away. Anywhere but to see pity in Blake's eyes.

"Oh Charlie," Blake sighed and Charlie cringed, expecting a litany of soothing words or unnecessary reassurances. But neither came. Instead, Blake tapped at his chin, making him raise his head.

"Let's sort you out and then we can talk about it, alright?"

No judgment, no pity. Just the always practical Doc.

Charlie nodded.

"Am I assuming right that at some point there was strong pressure on your throat?"

Charlie swallowed, then nodded again.

"Can I check for any injuries?"

Charlie run his tongue over his lips nervously. "Yeah," he said softly, the hoarseness of his voice testament enough to the suffered injury.

"I'll try to be as gentle as possible," Blake promised and this time Charlie didn't protest the reassuring tone. He hang on to it, his hands clutching at the edges of the bed, just to fight his body's instinctive reaction to push away Blake's hands. Somehow, he managed it, even though his whole body was shaking as Blake palpated his neck, front to back, paying extra attention to the bruise on the side.

"Does it hurt when you swallow?" Blake asked and his voice was clinical, almost unemotional. Charlie welcomed that.

"Yeah, a bit."

"Is it getting worse or is it the same?"

Charlie thought about it.

"It got a bit worse at work, but now it's the same," he said.

"Good. Any trouble breathing?"

Charlie shook his head.

"Wheezing? Shortness of breath?" Blake pushed on, while he instructed Charlie to turn his head this way and that.

"Only when I do something heavy."

Blake raised a questioning eyebrow, waiting for explanation.

"Like lugging a dead weight up the stairs," Charlie said with a grimace.

"Ah. I suppose that might get everyone short of breath."

Charlie chuckled, then winced. Blake took note of it and reached for something in the cabinet.

"Open up," he said and without much warning pushed a tongue depressor into Charlie's mouth and shone a torch down his throat. Charlie recoiled but then held still, although he couldn't help the glare.

"There seems to be some swelling... but as long as your breathing isn't impacted it's good. I'd advice some cold compress on the neck tonight... twenty minutes on, twenty off," Blake said and tossed away the depressor.

Charlie nodded, thinking that was all, but one look from Blake convinced him otherwise. He sighed and relented himself to more prodding.

Blake checked his eyes, ran his fingers over his scalp. He encountered the bump on the back of Charlie's head and frowned.

"Did you at any point hit your head, Charlie?"

Charlie bit into his bottom lip and shrugged. Blake's eyes narrowed.

"I think it's about time you told me what really happened, Charlie."

Charlie squirmed on the bed.

"Is it necessary? I... I'm fine. I'll just put some ice on it and sleep it off..."

Blake's face turned serious and when Charlie attempted to get off the bed and maybe just make a run for it, he was stopped by a firm touch on his chest.

"As I see it, Charlie, you have two choices."

Charlie gave an internal groan. Great. Blake was definitely pissed at this point.

"One... You sit there on the bed, let me examine you and answer all my questions. _If _I will find everything to my satisfaction, you can go to your room and we will see what I tell Matthew."

Charlie waited in silence. Number one wasn't that bad of an option, though he was sure Blake would decide to tell _everything _to the boss. Which wasn't good.

"What's the second?" Charlie felt a bit sassy, but that might've been just the weariness talking. Or maybe the fact he knew he had already lost the fight.

"I call Matthew in and he will sit on your back until I finish if necessary. I'll explain every damn bruise I find and let him deal with you next."

Charlie grimaced. None of those options sounded favorable, but the first one at least gave him the illusion of some choice. And he definitely didn't want Lawson present at the moment.

With a sigh he raised his arms in a sign of surrender.

Blake perked up.

"Good boy," he said with a smile and a pat on Charlie's shoulder. "Now take off that shirt and tell me exactly what happened."

Charlie begrudgingly did so. Even though he threw a worried glance towards the door, hoping that Lawson or Jean wouldn't decide for a chat with Blake just then.

"Don't worry, no one will come inside," Blake assured him even as he was looking at various bruises on Charlie's back. Charlie was surprised how many bruises there were actually. He was so focused on his throat and the headache that he totally ignored the rest of the aches. Even though he remembered taking several hits from the first guy he arrested and his own attempts at getting free from the deadly grip.

"Well, nothing seems broken at least. Though I'm sure you will be sore by morning," Blake stated and nodded at Charlie that he could put his clothes back on. Charlie let out a relieved sigh.

"I told you I'm fine," he said and was frankly surprised when Blake glared at him.

"I would hardly call the state you're in fine, Charlie! By your own words, you were choked until you lost consciousness then hit the floor. Do you even realize how dangerous that could be?"

Charlie froze. Of course he realized it. Hell... he thought he was going to die. But he didn't... and now he was fine. No harm done. No need to fuss or panic or make a scene...

All those thoughts played clear on his face and Blake's frown deepened. The doctor crossed the room and the space between them until he was almost nose to nose with Charlie, who had nowhere to go, because he was practically pushed back against the bed.

"This is no joke, Charlie. I understand you might think this was just something inconsequential. You feel alright now. But I don't understand why you didn't say anything. Why... why would you take such a risk?"

"What risk?" Charlie frowned. He knew that Blake was worried and that he didn't like secrets but still.

"Damnit, Charlie!" Blake slammed his hand on the bed with a loud smack and Charlie jumped.

"I don't care how embarrassing this might seem to you. You get hurt to the point of losing consciousness, you damn sure tell me!"

"Doc... " Charlie wasn't sure what to do. He hasn't seen Blake reacting this way before and he didn't really care for it. "I'm... I'm _fine,_" he repeated, this time more for Blake's sake than his own.

Blake sighed, then took in a calming breath. It was obvious there was something else the matter, something he didn't want to share.

"Thing with these types of injuries Charlie is that they can kill you hours later even if you think you're fine. Especially if there's no one to watch out."

Charlie paled.

"But... I feel okay?" he said, then cleared his throat, hoping that the feeling of tightness was just his imagination and not something else.

"Yes and you will be. But... with strangulation or choking... there's a risk of swelling or aneurysm. If I know what happened, I can look out for the signs until the risk is gone. But if you would've just gone to bed and something happened in the middle of the night... we would be none wiser. So do you understand why it's important to tell me these things?"

Charlie nodded.

"I wasn't... I didn't want to lie about it. Just..."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Charlie shrugged. Why indeed?

"Charlie." There was that imploring look once again. The one Charlie couldn't escape, no matter how hard he tried. And it was so much easier to focus on the doctor's blue eyes than to face his own fear.

"I was scared. I really... really thought that was it and..." Charlie shrugged, his voice choked. "It was easier to ignore I suppose."

Blake looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

"I understand that," Blake said with a sigh. "I've managed to almost drown in the river when I was about eight years old. Being unable to breathe... it was one of the scariest moments of my life."

Knowing some of the Doctor's history, Charlie doubted it belonged even to the first five of the scariest experiences he had. He knew well Blake had survived things Charlie couldn't even imagine going through. Yet still he was there, trying to make him feel better and not judging him, not telling him he was weak, that he should've been able to free himself. He was a cop after all and the man, albeit drugged, was more scrawny than anything.

"Nothing to be embarrassed for, Charlie," Blake reiterated, giving Charlie's shoulder a squeeze. "People can do horrible things under the influence and with some drugs... the body can withstand much more than is common."

Charlie nodded, finding it hard to speak. The black, wild eyes of the man would most likely haunt him in his dreams for a while but he knew that would pass.

"We've got your back. I heard Bill say you did good today. He seemed almost impressed."

Charlie blinked, surprised.

"Really?"

Blake chuckled.

"Yes. I almost went to check him for concussion... but it looks like whatever you did today helped. He's come around."

Charlie let out a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad. It was getting a bit tense around the station." Charlie knew he didn't really do anything wrong per say. Bill had his faults and his actions during the Philippe case were reprehensible. Still, Charlie might've gone a bit differently about his findings. But it was hard keeping a balance between holding up to the 'police code' and actually be a good copper. Hobart was more often than not trailing on the wrong side of the line and Charlie didn't want to be pulled over. He didn't have much to his name, but he would keep his honor if nothing else.

"Here," Blake pushed a bottle of pills into Charlie's hands, pulling him back to the present. "Take one every six hours. Should help with the pain and inflammation. And grab some ice from the freezer on your way up."

Charlie frowned, looking at the bottle and the rather huge pills inside.

"Doc... I had trouble getting down the mashed potatoes. Do you think I can swallow _these_?"

Charlie rattled the bottle, a look of disbelief on his face.

"Well, think about it this way. Once you can get these down without problem, you're healed."

Charlie looked at Blake, who kept a serious face for about five seconds, Then his lips twitched in a smirk.

"Don't worry. If it gives you trouble, you can crush the pill. Now... off with you. I took a sample from the drugs you seized in the raid and I'd like to do a few experiments on it." Blake's eyes gleemen with excitement and Charlie almost rolled his eyes. In some aspects the Doc was the most serious person on earth... in others he was like a little kid who was given access to a chemistry set. Ready to blow up the house for the first time.

But if it made Blake get off his back, Charlie wasn't about to complain. Still, he paused at the door.

"Doc?"

"Hm?" Blake was already pulling out the sample of drugs from his bag and heading towards the door to his small lab but turned to face him.

"What's wrong, Charlie?" he asked, noting the look of uncertainty on his face. Charlie squirmed.

"Uh... will... will this stay between us?"

Blake straightened up, the mirth gone from his face. He seemed to consider Charlie for a moment, then gave a small nod.

"I can't divulge patient information without consent if it isn't part of an investigation, you know that Charlie."

Charlie let out a sigh of relief and Blake's eyes narrowed.

"But..."

Charlie looked up, startled.

"You're off duty tomorrow and be sure I'll be checking up on you during the night."

Charlie cringed at that.

"What about afterwards?"

"We will see how you're doing," Blake said. "And... while I can't say anything to Matthew... I'd advise you to come clean. Because it won't take a genius to see the bruise on your neck and put two and two together."

Charlie ran a tongue over his lips, thinking it through. He couldn't even imagine how that conversation would go. It was one thing to tell what happened to Blake. He was a doctor after all and Charlie did feel safe with him. And even though Charlie trusted Lawson and knew there was a mutual respect between them... it was still his superior officer. Coming clean right now when the deed was done and it didn't change a thing about the charges seemed like pure whining to Charlie.

But he also knew Blake was right and sooner or later Lawson would realize some details were off in Charlie's report.

"I... I can't talk about this with him, Doc," Charlie admitted and there was a pleading look in his eyes. "But... if he asks... you can tell him what you want," he conceded.

"You sure about that?" Blake asked, checking.

"Yeah," Charlie said, feeling like he just put his head back into a noose. He ran his fingers over the bruise under his jaw, then shook his head. "_If _he asks."

Blake nodded.

"Smart choice. Now off you go. And remember... twenty minutes on, twenty off for the ice. It might help with the bruising."

"Yes Boss," Charlie said with a smirk and gave a half assed salute. Blake laughed.

"Doc?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," Charlie said and before Blake could answer, he left the room.

Sneaking into the kitchen was a bit bigger chore than he anticipated. He could hear Lawson in the living room talking with Jean. He grimaced and thought about skipping the ice, but then realized he just told Blake to go ahead and spill the beans. It really didn't matter whether Lawson noticed him or not.

Charlie grabbed the ice and a clean towel and he was on his way up the stairs when Jean stepped in his way. They almost collided and some of the ice cubes spilled on the floor. Charlie apologized and started picking them up.

"I should've watched where I was going," Jean said in reaction and helped him pick up the last piece. "Everything alright, Charlie?" she asked, her voice hushed so as to not alert Lawson. Charlie was grateful for that.

"Yeah. Just... needed some ice."

Jean frowned and reached up, gently touching the side of his face and Charlie realized she must've seen the bruise. Which meant the doc was right. By morning it would be clear what happened anyway.

"That looks painful."

Charlie shrugged.

"Doc took care of it," he said, then pointed at the ice. "This should take care of the rest," he said with a small smile.

"If you need anything, let me know." She ran her hand up and down his arm.

"Thanks," Charlie smiled and without second thought gave her a half hug. She returned it and Charlie felt his breathing get just a bit easier. "Uh... I better go... before this thaws out," he muttered a bit sheepishly and let go of her, then headed up the stairs.

* * *

Charlie didn't know where he was, but the air was stifling, almost burning as he was trying to breathe. He was walking down a dark corridor without a clear goal. He could hear footsteps in the distance and his own ragged breathing but that was all. He knew there was someone in the corridor with him but he couldn't gain the distance just by the sound. After what felt like minutes of walking, Charlie could feel the hair at the back of his neck raising to attention. He could almost feel a brush of breath against his ear. Panicked, he spun around to face his stalker, but there was no one there. Only darkness and speckles of dust visible in the light of a single light bulb hanging over his head. Charlie froze. He could feel his body shaking, he could feel the goose bumps covering his skin in warning. When the silence was broken by a familiar yet terrible roar, Charlie turned once again.

Only to be slammed against the wall, teeth rattling and feet kicking uselessly at the air as he was raised higher and higher. This time his assailant wasn't a scrawny guy. This time it was something else. A soulless monster with dark pits instead of eyes.

Charlie wanted to scream but he couldn't.

Not a sound left his lips as the clawed hand squeezed its grip around his throat and kept squeezing.

There was no air and Charlie's lungs once again fought for oxygen, but the only thing they got was fire. Charlie's eyes bulged as his hands clawed uselessly at the monster, clawed at his own neck in hopes of releasing the grip. Everything was becoming hazy and Charlie was sure that this time there was nothing to save him, this time he would die and this thing... this abomination would steal his soul and trap him inside this hell forever.

Charlie closed his eyes shut and finally wished for it all to end.

A loud ringing sound cut through the corridor and for a moment Charlie thought that was it... those were the bells announcing his death. He gave a choked sob, feeling his limbs go limp, his body sagging to the floor...

The grip on his throat vanished.

The ringing was still there... angry and loud and obnoxious...

But Charlie couldn't care less. Because the monster was gone and by some miracle he could breathe again.

Gulping down air, Charlie's hands shot up towards his throat, expecting to find swelling skin or even claw marks. His fingers touched wetness and for a second Charlie was sure it was blood. But... there was no coppery smell and there was no thickness to it. Only lukewarm wetness covering his throat and a towel and the pillow...

Charlie sat up in the bed, chest heaving and eyes wide open. He was home. There was no corridor and no monster trying to take his soul... only a nightmare. His chest still hurt and his heart was still beating too fast, but the tightness around his throat lessened. Instead he felt the dampness and the pain of bruised skin.

Charlie looked back down at his pillow, still expecting to see blood marring it, but it was only water. The ice cubes had melted and soaked through the towel, which had somehow managed to wrap itself around his neck. Probably causing the whole nightmare.

"Bloody hell," Charlie uttered and didn't know if he should laugh or cry. Instead he leaned over and smacked the clock on the bedside stand. The source of the ringing.

Charlie wondered whether he should be expecting Blake or Jean rushing into his room, but as a minute passed by and the silence of the house stayed uninterrupted, he let out a small sigh of relief. Then he checked the time.

It was few minutes after five in the morning. Way too early to be up, but Charlie didn't mind this time. He was thankful to be saved from the nightmare. But it was also way too early to be getting up for work. Charlie frowned at the clock, not remembering setting the alarm. He saw the bottle of pills next to it however and a glass.

Of course. It must've been Blake, making sure he would be up in time to take the meds. Charlie rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure how many times did Blake pop inside his room during the night. He remembered at least one occasion when he was woken up and asked questions, but he didn't properly wake up anyway. He hoped his answers made any sense or that he at least didn't curse Blake out for waking him.

Well, he was sure Blake would forgive him for that anyway. Charlie looked at his pillow and contemplated lying back down. But the pillow was wet. And turning around reminded Charlie just why he was supposed to take the meds. His whole body hurt. Not just the neck and head, but also shoulders and he could feel stiff muscles all the way down his spine. Not to mention the few bruises he caught in the stomach. All in all, he felt rather poorly.

Clearing his throat, he reached for the bottle of pills and shook one out, grimacing at the size of it. He swallowed dry, testing his throat and was unhappy to find out it still hurt like hell. No change there. Unfortunately, the glass was mostly empty and Charlie couldn't even imagine trying to dry swallow the pill. He would rather just go without.

With a sigh, he looked towards the window. The sky was starting to lighten up as the sun was raising, giving his room a slightly orange glow. Charlie get out of the bed and opened the window wide, letting in some fresh air. Maybe he could go grab a dry pillow from the closet downstairs along with something to drink. He wasn't so keen on going right back to sleep anyway, the remnants of the nightmare still making his skin crawl.

Charlie softly stepped out into the hall, noting the closed bedroom doors of both Jean and Blake and no light coming from Blake's office. That was good, it meant the man managed to get some sleep himself.

Charlie tiptoed around and down the stairs, towards the kitchen. Only to froze in place when he saw the light turned on and the kettle going, Matthew Lawson leaning heavily on his cane and waiting for the water to boil.

Charlie must've made some sound because Lawson turned around, still in his pajamas, and raised one eyebrow.

"Ah... sleeping beauty awakens. A bit early, isn't it?" Lawson said and turned back towards the kettle, taking it off the stove before it could start to whistle properly. He poured the water into his mug and put it down on the table. Charlie was still standing in place, somehow dumbfounded.

"Do you care for some tea, Davis? Or are you planning on standing there till the sun comes up?"

"Uh," Charlie muttered, then shook off his stupor. "Uh, no, thanks. I just... came for some water," he said finally finding his voice.

Lawson sat down and nodded towards the sink, as if to say 'All yours'. Charlie quickly crossed the room and poured cold water into his glass. He almost regretted bringing the pill with him, because he could feel it melting inside his palm, but he was reluctant to pop it in front of Lawson.

"Was that your alarm going off like crazy? Or should I expect Blake coming charging down any moment?"

Charlie grimaced.

"It was mine. Sorry, Boss." Charlie really hoped it wasn't the cause for Lawson's early awakening.

"Any particular reason why you set it this early?" Lawson asked nonchalantly and Charlie wondered whether the man knew the truth. Was there a chance he heard Charlie trashing around during his nightmare?

"Uh... the Doc set it I think," Charlie admitted and decided taking the pill took priority. Maybe Lawson would take pity on him and let him off the hook. He took the pill into his mouth, cursing himself for holding it so long as he could feel the bitter taste against his tongue. It took him two glasses of water to wash it down and he seriously wondered whether the taste merited the supposed healing effects.

Lawson was watching him with a mix of humor and well... Charlie wasn't sure what that look meant. The man had a gift of looking serious about anything and seeing him in his pajamas, with slightly ruffled hair was just throwing Charlie off. For a moment it wasn't his superior officer, but just a cranky guy trying to drink a cup of too hot coffee.

"Uhm... why are you awake this early, Boss?"

There was a flash of annoyance on Lawson's face but it vanished quickly. As the man silently pointed towards his bum leg, Charlie knew the emotion wasn't aimed at him.

"Sorry," he muttered and Lawson's piercing gaze found its target.

"You should be," the man said, his voice strong and unwavering. Unlike Charlie's, who felt his throat getting tighter.

"Boss?" he asked, clearing his throat nervously. Was the man hinting that it was Charlie's fault his leg was hurting? Or did he mean something else?

The confusion must've been apparent on his face, because Lawson let out an annoyed sigh.

"Blake told me what happened," he said and Charlie suddenly understood.

"Oh," he said, sagging against the kitchen counter a bit. "Boss... I can... I can explain?" he said, even though he wasn't sure.

Lawson gave him an 'I'm waiting' look.

Charlie's tongue ran over his suddenly parched lips.

"It was just a moment, really. He caught me by surprise and the drug... I've never seen anything like it, Boss. It... he couldn't feel a thing. I tried to get free but he didn't budge and then... he just... let me go and ran off."

"Just like that?" Lawson gave him a dubious look and Charlie squirmed in place.

"Well... I might've blacked out for a moment," he finally admitted. "I think once I stopped fighting back he lost... interest. When I got back up, Hobart was heading my way and then we caught up with him and subdued him. That's... that's really all that happened, Boss." Charlie hastily explained, trying to look as if it was just a normal raid, as if he wasn't afraid for his life during those moments.

"All that happened, hm?" Lawson said, taking another sip of his coffee and looking too relaxed to Charlie's eyes. A bit... too calm.

"Yes, Boss," Charlie said, even though he knew this wasn't the end. Hardly could be.

"So... will I find all of this detailed in your report?"

Charlie swallowed, because no. His report managed to omit some parts of the chase, specifically the choking and fainting part.

"You will... in the one I write up today?" Charlie said a bit hesitantly and Lawson's eyes narrowed.

"Tomorrow," the man corrected him and Charlie grimaced. Yes, of course. Blake made it clear he was to stay home today.

"Yes, Boss," Charlie said in low voice, trying to sound complacent and at the same time hoping someone will just walk in and interrupt this scene, giving him a chance to escape.

"Tell me, Charlie," Lawson started and Charlie startled at hearing his name. "Do you remember when I asked if anyone needed medical assistance?"

"Yes Boss," Charlie said begrudgingly, knowing well where this was going as well as hating to repeat himself.

"And did you speak up then? Say something to Blake, who I remind you, was just next door tending to the actual perpetrators?"

"No, Boss, but I was fi-" Charlie's protest was cut off.

"So help me Davis, if you finish that sentence, I will suspend your ass till next year!" Lawson barked and Charlie winced. "I don't appreciate you lying to me about police business and even less so about your health. Is that understood?"

And Charlie knew there was only one thing he could say.

"Yes... Boss. It... it won't happen again."

Lawson's gaze pinned him to the place and Charlie was sure not to waver. He wanted to show he meant what he said and didn't want any doubt between them. Not to mention, he already had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of one rant about his health. He really didn't need to hear the arguments coming from Lawson as well.

"Good. Because Davis... if something like that happens again and you decide to keep it to yourself... desk duty will be the least of your worries, I can assure you."

Charlie swallowed down the lump in his throat. He could see Lawson was serious, but by his words he didn't know what he meant. Did he just threaten him with pay cut? Loss of the job? Or something worse... like perhaps sic Jean Beazley and Lucien Blake against him?

Charlie was sure of one thing. He didn't want to risk either of the options. So he nodded meekly.

"Understood, Boss. Won't... won't happen again."

Lawson nodded.

Charlie looked around the kitchen, at the clock over the counter stating that he was standing there barely five minutes. Impossible. This whole talk felt more like eternity. His limbs felt heavy and even though some of the tension left his body, knowing that this was it, the whole affair ended here... he still felt his legs shaking slightly.

"If... if you don't need me here Boss... I think I'll go back to bed," he said and headed out of the kitchen.

"Good idea," Lawson nodded again. "Oh, and Davis?" he called out as Charlie was almost in the hall.

"Yeah?"

"You're on desk duty for the whole week. Maybe a bit of paperwork will teach you not to lie in reports," Lawson added.

Charlie blushed bright red, but didn't protest. Somehow he knew he couldn't expect any less. And in the end, it was the smallest price to pay.

**THE END**


End file.
